Head Stuffed
by GoldenRoya
Summary: Glitch gets lost. Cain finds him. And the headcase won't stop glitching.


**Summary:** Glitch gets lost. Cain finds him. And the headcase won't stop glitching.

**Pairing**: Cain/Glitch

**Disclaimers:** I don't own Tin Man, the Wizard of Oz, or any of the characters or settings within. (Man, I wish I did, though...) No zippers were harmed in the making of this fanfic.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Cain wandered the alleys of Central City. It was late, and everyone else had gone home to rest, to start again fresh in the morning.

But Wyatt Cain couldn't. Glitch had been missing for two days now, going on three. The tin man just wasn't going to abandon the zipper-head, not for anything. Glitch was his best friend, after all.

He dodged a drunk who was noisily - and messily - paying homage to the god of alcohol, and stepped through into a minor side-street. Flashing neon advertised girls for rent, another sign called attention to a bar, and a discrete plaque pointed out where interested parties could obtain some of the last, dwindling supplies of Vapours. Cain sighed. The wicked witch had been ousted an annual ago, but still, her fingers reached out from the grave to poison the minds of the subjects of the OZ.

It had been a long annual.

For nearly fifteen annuals, the witch had been in possession of Azkedelia. Nearly fifteen annuals, she'd taken it upon herself to destroy everything that Cain held dear. Her works had cost him his wife, his son's childhood, his career, his city, his heart. Things would never, ever be back to the way they were, no matter how much blood and sweat the Queen, her consort, and her daughters poured into the Rejuvenation. The Royal Family were all constantly working, trying their hardest to rebuild that which had been destroyed. Raw had ascended to the leadership of his clan, and the Viewers labored constantly, healing those who had been traumatized, trying to cure their own even as they reached out to the rest of the OZ. Even Tutor was kept busy, tracking down final groups of those loyal to the witch; one small group had nearly attacked Az in her bed, when they tried to convince her to lead them again. The princesses had been spirited away after that; Cain hadn't seen DG in eight months.

He'd tried to move on with his life, too. He'd applied for and been given his position in the police service back, but his heart wasn't in it anymore. "Tin Man" had become an epithet of hatred, and he just couldn't stand to hear those words thrown at his head while he tried to make the streets safer. He'd resigned soon after starting. His relationship with his son wasn't much better. He tried to be a father, he really did. But all of the intervening annuals had forced Jeb to grow up alone. He had his own life, and there wasn't much space in it for his old man.

Particularly an old man who was particularly fond of drink.

Cain's nightmares had gotten worse since the Eclipse. He'd been able to fend them off for a time, but without work, without family, without a purpose, they were haunting him. His time in the tin box preyed on his mind, and he resorted to alcohol to numb himself into sleep. Lately, it was taking more and more just to achieve the same level of anesthesia. He had managed to drive off all of his friends in one way or another, until it was just him and his bottle.

And Glitch.

Cain didn't know why the zipper-head stuck around. It wasn't for his personality, he was sure, because Cain was surly and half-drunk nearly all the time now. Maybe it was for the memories. Glitch didn't have a place in this new world either, not until a suitable medical team could be assembled to reinstate his brain. So he was at odds too, for a while. Cain was just insanely, absurdly grateful that he wasn't alone.

Not that he had let Glitch know that, outside of the morose, drunk, 'Yer muh on'y frien,' brooding. He was so wrapped up with his own problems that sometimes days would pass without seeing another soul except through the bottom of a glass. Usually when this happened, it was Glitch who would come and find him. More than once, he'd fished him up out of the gutter and taken him home to let him sleep it off. Glitch begged Cain to stop drinking, to seek professional help to deal with his problems, but drink always seemed easier to Cain. Less painful than having to face his nightmares head on in the light. He hated to disappoint Glitch, but there are just some things he couldn't do.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

But Glitch's words stuck around. That night, two, no, three nights ago now, sitting at the bar, the alcohol just wasn't touching him like it should. Finally, he'd sighed and dropped his last roll of cash.

"'S not even close to closing yet," the barman commented, and Cain grunted.

"I'm going to see a friend."

A leer crossed the man's face. "Oh? Well you two have a nice time, then."

Cain let the insinuation go, meandering out the door. He was just drunk enough to be tipsy, and he shambled up to the better part of the city, where Ambrose kept his flat. He'd surprise him, he thought, showing up without actually being on the verge of unconsciousness. Maybe they'd be able to talk tonight. He wondered how the old zipper-head was doing. He'd seen him… yesterday? Day before? He shook his head, trying to clear it. Sometime, anyway. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him without alcohol blurring his vision.

He got to the place and knocked. No answer, so he tried the doorknob. It opened. _Damn. Glitch must be glitching again, to forget to lock up._

Cain wandered in, calling out for his friend, bottle in one hand and hat in the other - in the old days it would have been his pistol, but Glitch had seen to it that if he had to be a drunk, at least he'd be an _unarmed_ drunk.

He made a thorough search of the rooms, looking, calling.

But there was nothing. Nobody. Glitch was gone.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

The queen mobilized both the palace and the city guards to search for the lost advisor. Cain, loath to hover about in the background, took his place on the front line, bottle forgotten as he combed the underbelly of Central City for his friend. He searched like one possessed, through the headaches, the hangover, and the really, really creepy sensations that told him he was drying out for the first time in weeks. Glitch was everything. Glitch was all. He would find Glitch if it killed him.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

So here he was now, in an alley, in the dead of night, dodging the leavings of drunks before him and becoming generally aware of how decrepit his city had become. There was a drunk right over there, curled up against the wall, hands over his head, muttering to himself. Cain rolled his eyes. Had he ever looked that pathetic? He frowned, a mental image of himself over the last few weeks coming back to him. Hell, he'd probably looked worse.

But that figure looked familiar. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer, then, as he realized what he was seeing, lurched towards him. "Glitch? Glitch!"

The advisor was bent into the fetal position, rocking slowly. "…I don't kn-….I don't kn-….I don't kn-…." he repeated an endless loop.

Cain stooped before him. "Glitch? C'mon, Glitch, stop glitching. Time to go home." He shook him gently to knock him out of it.

The brunette twitched once, twice, and then fell to rocking again. "…I don't know….I don't know….I don't know…."

"Glitch, c'mon, stop it." Cain took him by both shoulders and shook him harder.

The advisor froze, staring straight ahead, then started shaking violently.

"Oh boy…no, stop, Glitch, don't do that, I didn't mean it…." Cain supported his friend, holding his head up, stopping him from bashing his head against the wall. A look at the side of his face confirmed that this wasn't his first seizure - he was scraped and oozing blood.

More out of desperation than anything, he slid behind him, using his body to shield him from the wall, holding him in his arms until the tremors stopped. "Glitch? You okay?"

"…I duh…I duh…I duh…I duh…"

Cain cursed.

Glitch was cold. How long had he been here? Long enough, it seemed. Cain considered running for help, but with Glitch in such a state, he didn't want to risk leaving him. And he couldn't move him; he didn't want to set off another seizure. Still, he could get him off the street. He hitched around until he'd managed to ease his friend off of the pavement and mostly onto his lap. He leaned back against the wall, cradling Glitch's limp head against his chest. "…I duh…I duh…I duh…" Like a metronome.

"It's just for now," he assured him. "Just until someone comes along who we can send for help. We'll get you back to the palace in no time, Glitch, get you all patched up. It'll be okay; you'll be okay."

He wasn't normally one for a lot of words, but he had to say something, anything, to stop himself from focusing on the looping mutter. "You think I would let you run away like that? Nope, not after all the times you picked my sorry ass up off the street. Drunk as a skunk, but you didn't care."

He shifted a little, freeing his arm to tuck some of Glitch's wild hair out of his face. "I swear I'm goin' sober after this," he promised, but his attention was arrested by the zipper on his friend's head.

It was partially open.

There was something sticking out.

Slightly horrified, Cain cautiously slid the zipper back, opening his friend's head up. He grasped the object and pulled, gently.

It was a wadded up newspaper. And it wasn't alone. There was more trash shoved in there: bits of paper, rocks, a half-rotten apple core, the broken end of a bottle - Cain winced when he pulled that out, hoping that the glass hadn't cut anything inside Glitch's head. The poor man's brain couldn't take much more abuse.

He closed the zipper, holding Glitch close. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye as he cradled his friend. He knew what had happened now.

Head cases had been around for a long time, since before the war. Where Glitch - then Ambrose - had had his brain pillaged for what he knew, the original head cases were convicts who had had their brains ripped out of them as a 'cure' for their criminality, trapping them in their own minds, generally rendering them harmless. It was a great sport among the crueler members of society to catch one and stuff his head full of whatever came to hand, then watch the fireworks. Cain had helped to pick up the remains of one man who had run around in circles until he had literally run himself to death, and another who had scratched his body until his fingernails were scraping bone. They'd been murderers, the both of them, and he'd not given it a second thought.

Until now.

"Aw, Glitch," he muttered. "Why couldn't you have stayed home? I told you what these people down here are like. They don't care that you're a hero, that you saved countless lives. They see that damned zipper and they think you're nothing but a convict." He ran his hand over the part in his hair, cradling his head. Glitch kept looping, "…I duh…I duh…"

Cain didn't know how long he sat there, holding Glitch. It seemed like hours. It seemed like days. He spoke to him, anything that came to mind. Stories. Tales. Songs. Memories.

"Dammit, this isn't how it's supposed to go," he murmured. "You saved my life way too many times for you to get taken down by a bunch of thugs now. What happened, Glitch? How'd they get the better of you? Remember those longcoats, back when we were rescuing DG? You're a fighter. Come on, Glitch, fight back, come back to me."

Nothing. He might as well have been a tick-tock man for all Glitch was responding to him. Cain simply held him tighter and talked more.

At long last, his words ran out and he sat there, rocking his glitching friend gently.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Footsteps walking past brought his attention back to the real world. "Hey!" he called. "Give us a hand here?"

The heavyset man paused, eyeballing the two men, an unreadable expression flitting across his face. "Yeah? What's in it for me?"

"Platinums," Cain told him, promptly. "You can name your own price. Just get to a phone and call the palace. Tell 'em that Wyatt Cain found Gli- Ambrose, and tell 'em where we are."

The man regarded him with a calculating look. "And they'll pay platinums for that one phone call, will they?"

Cain forced himself to stay calm. "Just make the call and find out." He swallowed hard, forcing the word out. "Please?" Begging. He was _begging_.

"…I duh…I duh…" murmured Glitch. His voice was going hoarse. He needed help. Now.

"Please," Cain repeated, definitely begging but not caring who knew it. "He's not going to hold on much longer."

"Huh. Fine." The man disappeared into a building.

Cain clutched Glitch. "It's going to be okay," he murmured in his ear. "Help is on the way. We'll get you straightened out in no time."

He buried his nose in his friend's hair. Since taking up regular residence in Central City, Glitch had been able to pay far more attention to his personal hygiene than when he'd been on the run. What had once been permanent matted dreadlocks was now softer curls, parted rudely around the zipper. Cain figured he must be more tired than usual, because he kept imagining that it was Adora on his lap. That _had _to be why he was feeling this surge of… let's just call it _emotion_. Had to be.

"A'right." The voice cut into his sleep-deprived mental ramblings. "They're on their way. I guess you aren't as crazy as you look."

Cain blinked up at him. "Okay. Thanks. Um. Direct 'em back here to us, will ya?"

The man grunted, and Cain was left alone again, with Glitch looping in his lap.

"Why'd you come after me all those times?" he wondered aloud, for the first time. "Why did you care so much about me, when my own son couldn't stand the sight of me, huh? Geez, Glitch. You're all heart, you know that? I wish I had half of your capacity to care." He hugged him again, shifting slightly under him. His body was a weight, but no burden. "I think I love you for that, you know?"

He would have gone on, but just then the emergency crew arrived.

"Oh, thank heaven!" the lead tech exclaimed. "We've been looking for Ambrose for days!" She knelt beside them, shining a light into Glitch's non-reactive pupils, checking his neurological signs. After one glance at Cain, she dismissed him with visible contempt. Tales of his drunkenness had reached the palace, it seemed.

"Who's Ida?" she asked abruptly.

"What?" Cain was confused.

She pointed at Glitch. "He keeps calling for Ida."

"Oh! No," Cain said. "He's glitching. Looping. Repeating a phrase over and over," he explained to her confused look. "Usually someone interrupting him is enough to shake him out of it. I tried that already!" Cain tried to stop her, but it was too late. She took Glitch by the shoulders and shook. Very firmly.

He seized.

"You idiot!" Cain berated the poor tech, making a grab for Glitch. The other man's hands closed on his shirt, and his eyes stared into Cain's. After a few seconds, the looping started again. "…I luh…I luh…I luh…"

"Damn," swore the tech. "What happened to him?"

"If you'd have asked me in the first place…" Cain muttered, darkly. "He got head-stuffed, is what happened. He's lucky he just got stuck saying, 'I don't know,' over and over; they must've got bored and left him alone. I've seen men go crazy and die from it. And you shook him!" He held Glitch close to his chest, protectively.

The tech turned red. Her assistant cocked his head at the patient. "Doesn't sound like 'Ida,' to me, ma'am," he said. "Sounds different than a minute ago."

Cain lost what remained of his temper at that point. "Stop _talking _about it and just get him to the infirmary, _now! _He needs _professional_ attention!"

The tech's shoulders squared defensively, but she said nothing, merely directing that the fallen advisor be loaded onto a gurney in the back of the ambulance. Cain had to come along, much to the tech's distaste; Glitch's grip on his shirt was rock-solid, and wasn't going to be broken anytime soon.

~~~~~*****~~~~~

Back at the palace, a whole slew of medical professionals awaited them. Cain - shirtless, as the medicos had insisted that Cain get out of the way and Glitch wasn't letting go - stayed for the whole thing, watching carefully to make sure that his friend wasn't hurt. But his interventions weren't needed. Glitch's zipper was opened up, some sort of a solution was washed around the cavity in his head, cleansing it, and some minor surgery was performed to stitch up a nasty cut on the inside wall. Eventually, Glitch fell silent. His hands relaxed, and he fell into a natural sleep.

The nurses tried to escort Cain out, but he pulled up a chair beside the bed and ignored them. Finally, they gave up and left him there.

He sat watching Glitch's face for a long time.

"I'm sorry," he murmured at last. "I wish I'd gotten help when you wanted me to. I wish I'd gone sober. You wouldn't have been down there if you weren't out looking for me. If anything's happened to you, I swear I'll never forgive myself. You're my best friend. And yeah, it's me saying it, not the drink. I haven't had a drop in nearly three days. You proud of me?" He smiled wryly to himself before sobering again. "I'm so sorry it took you getting head-stuffed for me to realize what a ass I was making of myself. I swear to you, this is it. On the wagon, permanent." He touched his friend's hand, curling his fingers under the palm. "To think it took nearly losing you to make me realize just how much I care about you, Glitch. I love you."

The hand turned upwards, slim fingers wrapping around Cain's thicker ones. He looked up to find a pair of dark eyes watching him. "Glitch?" he asked, hopefully.

The patient opened his mouth, tried to speak, and coughed . "…water…" he croaked, weakly.

Cain scrambled for a glass, filling it at the tap and bringing it back. Glitch tried to gulp it down, sputtered, coughed, and, when he'd gotten his breath back, proceeded to drink it more slowly.

"That tastes good," he murmured, finally, one hand rubbing his throat. "Talking non-stop like that really dries a guy out."

"You remember?" Cain returned the glass to the bedside table, and Glitch nodded.

"Parts of it. Yeah. A lot of it is… a blur." He lay back, exhausted by even that small effort. "Kept seeing stuff that wasn't there - lions, tigers, men made out of metal. Some green-skinned gal with a broom, now _that_ was interesting." Hooded eyes sought Cain's in the dimness. "You. Though I get the feeling that you weren't a hallucination."

Cain's mouth twisted. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Huh. Well, you kept the woogies away, that's for sure. Couldn't concentrate on the visuals when the audio wasn't matching. Don't think I've ever heard you talk so much in your life, Tin Man." He smiled tiredly. "And don't think I'm not going to hold you to your promise, Cain. No more booze for you. Sober-town, goin' round."

Cain didn't remember everything he'd said, but a couple of his more revealing statements came back in a rush, and he colored. "Uh-huh. And… how much of… of what you heard do you remember?"

Glitch's fingers found his in the half-dark. "Enough to know that we need to have a nice, long talk, Wyatt," he said with a tired smile. "Stay with me tonight?"

He closed his hand around his friend's, fighting embarrassment. "I don't… I mean, if you… that is…"

"Wyatt Cain at a loss for words," Glitch laughed weakly. "I was trying to tell you earlier, the last time ya tried to shake me out of the loop. All I could get out was 'I luh.'"

Cain followed this slowly. "'I luh… ve…?"

A half smile crossed Glitch's lips. "'S really frustrating, wanting so bad to say something for so long, and not getting the chance to say it. And then having you beat me to it." He patted the bed beside him, exhaustedly. "Protect me tonight, Tin Man?"

With a little trepidation, Cain stretched out beside him. Glitch laid his head on his chest and Cain wrapped him in his arms, holding him like he had in the alley for all those hours. It felt…right. He felt a weight drop from his chest, and he smiled down at his friend.

Glitch sighed with contentment. "I knew I could count on you to find me, Cain," he murmured. "I'm glad it was you.

"I love you."


End file.
